


Firsts

by ciaan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaan/pseuds/ciaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girl meets boy. Girl gets boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted October 2006. Beta by dotfic, jfc013, and kinetikatrue.

The first thing Jess notices about him is that he's tall. She's 5'11" herself, and she's dated guys who were shorter than her, but she's enough of a girl to appreciate not having to look down at her boyfriend.

So when he walks into the classroom on the first day of art history, just barely clearing the door, skinny but not a total pipecleaner, cute face under shaggy hair, she pays attention. He settles down in the front row with his notebook spread open, twirling his pen pointlessly between his fingers.

The professor calls roll and she learns that the tall boy's name is Sam Winchester.

***

The first time Jess kisses him they're sitting on her bed in her dorm room. They're partners for a project and they're supposed to be doing research, but she leans over in the middle of his sentence about Pollock and he shuts up and kisses her back.

The cotton of his t-shirt is soft and warm as she slides her hands under it up his back. He reaches behind himself to grab her wrists, fingers holding her in place, and asks, voice tripping some over the words, if she wants to go out to dinner on Friday.

They do, and after dinner when the check comes Sam offers to pay. She says sure, if she gets to pay next time. He smiles and agrees, and she can't keep herself from grinning, because that means there will be a next time.

When they get back to her room she realizes that she's left her keys locked inside. Sam picks the lock with her nail file and his student ID. Jess lies in bed for at least an hour after he leaves, unable to sleep, just playing back the evening in her mind and feeling like she's floating to the ceiling.

***

Jess didn't think much of it when she first saw it, but that was weeks ago, and it hasn't disappeared. Now her fingers trace the edge of the mark on Sam's ribs. It's dark yellow like aged parchment, the tail end of a fading bruise. She's aligning it in her mind with the other scars, and maybe Sam was just a wild little boy, or maybe not.

He never talks about his family. The only time he's said anything was once when they went clubbing. He was looking at her license, and he read her birth date, and oh, he said, that's the same... That's the same as my brother's birthday.

So you didn't just spring full-grown from some tree on campus, she replied.

He's almost asleep, one arm under her head, the other over her hips, breath brushing through her hair. She turns her face an inch so her lips can meet salty skin and thinks back on what he told her. His mom died when he was a baby, and Jess kisses his collarbone. Dad, the ex-marine, was hit hard by it, and they moved around a lot after that, and she kisses him again. Dean, the older brother, mostly raised him, and she slides her mouth further over. Sam's father and brother were too over-bearing, too demanding, too much there, he needed to get away. Dad didn't want it and now they don't speak anymore. It all sounds so foreign to Jess, the only child, California girl born and raised, who still lives in her childhood home. Her parents can be annoying sometimes, but they've always supported her. Jess moves her lips against Sam's neck. You're here with me, she thinks, the last two words almost out loud, and he sighs into her ear, shifting his body closer.

She wants to ask if his family gave him these scars, but here, now, curled under the covers, she doesn't do it.

***

It's ages before he first lets her into his room. The space is divided neatly in two, like a knife has sliced it, the jumble and mess of his roommate's belongings on one side, and on the other side, almost nothing. Jess knows which is which before Sam can even gesture at the empty half and proclaim it his. His voice is soft, low, and his eyes are full of worry.

There's no stereo, no computer, no posters on the walls. Just barren college-issued white and brown, the bed, the dresser, the desk, a few toiletries and books. Very zen, she says, and sees the relief as he smiles slowly and reaches out to clasp her hand.

It's right then, standing there, that she realizes she's fallen in love with him.


End file.
